


House of Sleep

by HandsOfGold



Category: Powerwolf (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 22:01:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20015455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsOfGold/pseuds/HandsOfGold
Summary: He'd slipped away again.





	1. Godless

He'd slipped away again, as he was used to doing after the recordings of the day were done. Of course it was assumed that he went home, exhausted from the day, and went to bed. He looked tired the entire day - it was only logical that he'd go home to get a good night's sleep, wasn't it?

Then why would he look so tired again every next morning?

The others, who'd known him longer than Roel did, had exchanged meaningful glances at the suspicions the younger man had uttered in worry. They'd cleaned their throats and told him not to worry about it, that there was nothing he could do against it. None of them had ever mentioned what it was.

But Roel could not forget the shivering cold of Benjamin's hands when they would brush against his in a hasty moment, the trembling of his fingers and the haziness of his eyes, the way he'd cling to beer bottles as if they were the last thing holding him in this world. Benjamin would bring his own water bottle to work and not allow anybody else to touch it, guarding it with an eagle's eyes the entire day. The later it got the more the shivering would intensify, he would start to look sicker and sicker.

Roel was beginning to suspect what it could be about and he was scared, to say the least. He was scared to see this suspicion proven, scared what he would find if he followed Benjamin into the cold January night. He might not have done it. He might have stayed far away from the danger, but in the back of his mind there was always the memory of Benjamin's touch and how it would electrify his skin, the sinking feeling in his chest when he saw him looking so sick. And that was why he waited for the other man to leave before he excuse himself, pretending to be tired while he was wide awake, to follow Benjamin wherever he might go.

It was a long walk, and although he was falling out of breath quickly Benjamin hurried to reach his aim as quickly as possible. He did not look back to see if anybody might be following him. In the increasingly dim light of orange street lights Roel saw that he other man's trembling had grown into a violent shiver that shook his entire body, he stumbled more than once and had to support himself at lamp posts.

Benjamin had pulled the black hood of the only pullover he seemed to own over his reddish curls that were messily tied together in something that was half a bun and half a ponytail. He'd never seemed to care about his appearance, his hair was barely ever brushed; but more importantly he didn't seem to care about his body. Roel hadn't seen him eating even once and he strongly doubted he was drinking water all day. His cheeks and eyes were sunken, his lips a thin, pale line and beads of sweat would form on his forehead despite the coldness of his skin. He would complain about migraines and take too many painkillers, on an empty stomach on top of it all. Something about this behaviour hurt Roel himself, as if Benjamin was an extended part of himself that it was his duty to care for. And that was what he was doing now.

They had reached what appeared to be an abandoned factory building in the middle of many, many industrial buildings. Its brick walls loomed before them, high into the sky. The faintest lights seemed to flicker behind its broken windows. Benjamin stopped before the rusty iron fence, the next street light was nearly a hundred metres away. He looked around nervously before he ducked to crawl through a hole somebody had broken into the porous metal. Roel saw his small figure walking over the wide yard of the factory just to vanish through its gate.

He took a breath and approached the fence carefully. The hole was small for a man his height and something tore on his shirt, tearing a hole into it. But finally he stood in front of the seemingly deserted building - and saw his greatest fears come true as his eyes grew used to the darkness.

The ground was littered with a multitude of things, but most prominent were bloody bandages, needles and cracked syringes on which many feet had to have stepped already. The further he looked into the wide hall that the main gate opened into the more the litter became. But the hall was empty. Two staircases on either side of the gate led up to a gallery from which you could oversee the entire hall (empty as well). As Roel ascended them he saw that there were doors opening into empty corridors with blood and dirt and litter on their floors. In the rooms adjacent to the corridors he finally spotted some signs of life.

As he approached he felt something underneath his feet, cursed as he saw the needle that had pierced through his shoe soles. He removed it carefully in order not to sting his finger, making a mental note to get himself tested for every known disease there was, for there was no doubt what this building was or had become.

The first room he entered was furnished with nothing but an old chair that had probably been stolen from the house of somebody very old. A man in sweatpants and a dirty grey shirt was seated on it with his legs spread, his eyes appeared to be closed but Roel knew when he was being watched.

"Looking for anything in particular?" the man asked, opening his eyes. His voice was deep and hoarse, cracking every second word or so.

"A friend, actually," Roel said coolly, regarding him with a direct look. The man sat up in a straight position.

"Well then good luck finding your friend here, man. I wouldn't even start searching if I were you. They're gonna fuck you up big time. If you don't mind your own business, I mean. And besides..." - his voice assumed a threatening undertone - "I could fuck you up too. This is my area, y'know? Can't have any fuckers start investigating."

Roel stepped closer. He was well aware that this man was potentially dangerous, but he was also well aware what Benjamin must be doing to himself this very second. The thought alone gave him the will to continue, but the only words that came from his lips were:

"I have money."

The dealer laughed hoarsely.

"So do I. What do I care about what you could give me here? It's not a lot, and certainly not enough to make up for what I'll lose if the cops show up here knowing everything."

Blind rage clouded Roel's mind. He'd never felt such helplessness, such despair before in his life. His eyes lit up with rage that led him to do something very foolish.

"Listen up," he hissed from clenched teeth, "I'm not going out of here without him, do you understand me? I have the power to call the cops on you and you know it. I also have the power to fuck you up in this room without anybody finding out. So let's make a deal, shall we? You let me go in there, I leave you in peace."

"That friend of yours must be very... dear to you." The dealer grinned, showing his rotting teeth.

"But let's not forget this is my area. But you listen up - I'll give you fifteen minutes, which is plenty, to get that friend of yours. If you're not gone by then I'll have you thrown out, with or without that guy. Understood me?"

Roel understood. But instead of answering he turned around and stormed through the corridors, glancing into each room on his way. It seemed that hell had come to earth.

Their mattresses were dirty, their eyes empty and their bodies destroyed. Now that Roel looked at them he could see Benjamin in each lost face of theirs, his eyes were as broken and hopeless as theirs were. He was desperately running through the corridors that seemed so endless, how was he supposed to find him within fifteen minutes? A nonexistent clock ticked away time and with it the calmness in Roel.

Some of them were not sunken into their haze deeply enough as to not recognize him staring at them. They barely looked human as they stared back into his face, their expressions shocked him and he was close to tears as he thought of how Benjamin had to come to this place every night, how he had to be one of them. Roel's desperation grew further. He would not find him. He would have to leave Benjamin in this terrible place, maybe leave him to die.

Then, in a corner room into which he only threw a quick glance as it seemed to be empty, he spotted the tiny, skinny body that was curled up on the dirty mattress that spilled its fillings onto the equally dirty floor, and he knew that he had found him.

Roel stumbled into the room, kicking away needles and syringes with his feet to kneel down next to the body on the mattress. Leftovers of a candle were burning in a corner, its shine illuminated the redness in Benjamin's hair. His fingers still held the syringe he had used, the burned spoon was next to the candle.

Benjamin lay there and did not move, his gaze directed at the wall underneath the cracked window. The room was icy but his upper body was naked, shivering even more than before. His hoodie was underneath him, a barrier between his body and the dirt and blood of the mattress, his belt was untied and wrapped around his upper arm as a tourniquet. It took Roel a while to process that he was awake, drowsy in a drug induced haze in which he could not realize Roel's presence.

"Benjamin," he called out his name, reaching for his shoulder. It shocked him to feel how cold and bony it was. Indeed he had never seen Benjamin without the large hoodie that concealed his worrying thinness which was now revealed in the candlelight

Slowly, very slowly, Benjamin turned around. His gaze was disoriented, searching the room for a good five seconds before he found Roel's eyes. His eyes widened in shock and he tried to scramble away from Roel who prevented him from doing this by grasping him around his waist.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly, then shook his head sadly.

"No, no you aren't. I'm so sorry I had to come here this way, but I couldn't just keep watching you."

"It's nothing Roel," Benjamin slurred, his eyes drifting around the room, from ceiling to floor, always avoiding Roel.

"Please... go, please. It's nothing."

"I wouldn't call that nothing," Roel said and felt the tears coming again suddenly as he saw how small Benjamin was in this room, only inches away from the dirty ground and the syringes that would have bored into his skin. As Benjamin tried to grasp for his hand he could not find and reach it. His, stretched out arm revealed large blue bruises and a vast mass of track marks scattered all over his veins. He looked so tired it hurt Roel's heart.

"It's nothing," he kept insisting, his head bent in shame. His voice was as drowsy as his eyes were. It broke Roel to see him like this, broke him especially because he'd seen how gentle he was with others, with the others, with his band mates who knew about this and did nothing.

"I'll get you out of here Benjamin," he promised, grasping the smaller man's hand tightly into his.

"Do you think you can stand up?"

"Please leave me," Benjamin whispered.

"I don't want you to have to do this. I'm so sorry I couldn't be more discreet about it. I... please leave. Don't do this," he repeated.

"You're not talking sense, Benjamin," Roel said, not letting go of his hand. Suddenly he noticed that the other way crying, hot tears steamed on his gaunt cheeks, he was stammering something that Roel could not understand.

Then his eyes fell onto the syringe and he noticed too late that Benjamin had lifted up his arm in tears to thrust it into Roel's direction as a weapon. It was that second in which he realized how much of a wreck the other man was.

"Please leave me, please, I'm begging you," Benjamin cried out.

"There's nothing, there's nothing you can do. Leave me! Leave it be!"

Now that Benjamin was almost sitting with his back pressed against the wall as a support he could see the bloody lacerations on his other arms. He realized that Benjamin believed he wanted to punish him for his seeming failure, something that someone else must have done and that he was doing himself. Roel felt sick thinking about it.

"I'm not leaving," he told Benjamin firmly, interrupting his stream of senseless, slurred rambling. His behaviour changed abruptly as he stared directly at Roel. The drowsiness took over him again, his eyes were glassy all of a sudden. His legs faltered, his knees grew weak and he would have fallen had Roel not been there to support and catch him.

"How long have you not slept at home?" he asked softly, putting both arms around the other man.

"Don' know," Benjamin muttered and his gaze roamed the room again in disorientation.

"Don' know." He kept repeating the phrase in the exact same tone until Roel shushed him gently. He took the syringe from his fingers and threw it to the others onto the floor. Benjamin did not resist.

Roel did not know what the future would be for them, but he knew he had to get Benjamin out of this place or he would die of hypothermia or an overdose sooner or later. His body showed all the signs of abuse and addiction. All that Roel knew was that he had to get him out of here.

"Can you walk?" he asked. Benjamin shook his head. Apathy and dissociation were taking over his mind. Roel slung one of Benjamin's arms around his shoulder to support him but he noticed that the other was swaying and shivering too heavily to walk. Finally he lifted his tiny weight and carried him out of the drug den, away from the ghosts that looked exactly like him. Benjamin was limp in his arms. He had to bring him someplace safe, a flat or a hospital. He did not know. His only thought was to get away.

\---

The next morning it was Benjamin who awoke shivering and cold, but not brushed by the cold January air that streamed through cracked windows onto the mattress on which he slept. He was in a strange bed under strange covers, with a not so strange hand in his, its thumb hovering over his wrist to feel the constant pulse.

Benjamin lowered his head in shame. He could not look at Roel, would not be able to bear words from him. Roel seemed to understand, for he did nothing but hold his hand.


	2. Swallow

"Can you stand up?" Roel asked as the sun had risen higher into the sky.

"What kind of question is that?" Benjamin, who'd been dozing with closer eyes, smiled in anguish.

"I'm always managing to get up one day or the other." He let his head sink back into the pillow tiredly but started as his glance fell onto the clock on the wall to his right, above the door to the guest bedroom.

"We'll be late! We have to go now!"

"The others can do without us until noon," Roel said calming, gently holding the other man down.

"I'm gonna make breakfast now. If you want to you can shower or sleep some more. Whatever you feel like."

"I'm not hungry. I feel sick," Benjamin added truthfully.

"Come on, you have to be hungry!"

"I'm really not."

"When did you last eat?"

A guilty look took over Benjamin's face as he lifted his shoulders helplessly.

"I... don't know?"

"When?" Roel asked, a bit more strict than he'd intended. He regretted it when he saw Benjamin flinch.

"I really don't know," the other repeated.

"Wish I could tell you. I forgot, though."

"You really forgot." Roel said, shocked.

"That's unacceptable. I'm making breakfast right now. What do you like to have for breakfast?"

"Preferably strong, black coffee and an aspirin." Benjamin clenched his teeth as a wave of headache pounded behind his forehead.

"You have to eat something," Roel kept insisting.

"I'm not hungry," Benjamin kept insisting.

"Really, my stomach hurts. I don't think eating's the best idea right now." His voice still sounded slurred. He was very pale.

"That's called hunger pains, Benjamin," Roel said the first thing that came to his mind. He reckoned it would be correct.

"Your stomach is cramping because you haven't been eating. I'm making breakfast right now and there's absolutely no excuse for you not to eat."

He vanished into the small kitchen of his temporarily rented apartment, rummaging through the counters in search for something warm to eat. By the time that Benjamin - who'd spent such a long time in the shower that Roel was tempted to check whether he'd drowned himself - wandered into the kitchen he'd managed to prepare scrambled eggs, warm oatmeal and some fresh fruit as well as a cup of herbal tea.

"I don't drink coffee," he explained.

"It tastes terrible in my opinion. Sorry."

He looked down at Benjamin's old, raggedy clothes and shook his head.

"How long have you been wearing this stuff for?" He didn't need Benjamin to shrug helplessly to know the answer.

"Take something from me. The fresh laundry's in the basket over there, if you don't feel like investigating my wardrobe." He laughed, piling eggs on two plates. Benjamin smiled nervously. Roel watched him shyly searching through the basket, finding a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie that would be about two sizes too large for him. At least it would keep him warm for the day, or so Roel hoped.

Benjamin sat down on the table in his characteristic crouched position, always trying to shrink into the smallest spaces to try and take up as little space as possible. Not wanting to make him even more insecure Roel did not comment on it.

The other man cupped the mug of tea with both hands, not touching the food in front of him. He kept his eyes closed, probably trying to cope with a headache that seemed to smash his skull. He looked as pale and sick as he usually did in the late evenings.

"Eat," Roel encouraged him quietly as he opened his eyes for a moment. Reluctantly Benjamin started doing what he was told, slowly, bite by bite. With great relief Roel noted that he seemed to realize his hunger, for he did not put the fork down until the plate was empty.

"Feeling a bit better?" he asked as soon as they'd both finished their breakfast. Benjamin nodded, a blush on his cheeks, sipping his tea carefully in order not to spill a drop. Every fibre of his body seemed painfully aware of the smallest inconveniences he could cause - things that would not inconvenience Roel in any way, of course.

They sat in silence for some time, both drinking. Benjamin was constantly staring out of the window, vanishing in Roel's big hoodie he'd put on. He looked small and somehow lost.

"You were right," he said into the silence after a while.

"About what?" Roel asked, frowning.

"I don't feel the cramps anymore. Now I'm just sick."

Roel smiled, but he also sighed. He put a hand onto the table, reaching into Benjamin's direction very lightly.

"What was it that you took last night, Benjamin?"

The other man flinched.

"Ben, please. Only my parents call me Benjamin."

"That doesn't answer my question, Ben."

"Can't you tell?" Ben muttered, looking at the floor in shame again.

"No, I can't. But I need to know to understand."

The bitter laughter surprised him not the slightest bit.

"You'd have to know about a lot of shit to understand only the physical condition I'm in. Hell, not even I understand it."

"But I'd like to understand."

"Seriously, why are you doing this?" Ben was looking at him directly now.

"You can only fail. I can't even explain why you took this job after talking to... to me. Interrupting your goddamn Christmas family dinner. Why would you give a damn about what happens to me?" It was the longest coherent sentence he had said so far and somehow it hit Roel deep.

"Because you're not just some guy. I care about you, and I couldn't help it if I wanted. Not that I'd want to. I care about you."

"But why?"

Because you make me go insane, Roel wanted to say, but all he brought out was: "Because I do."

It was true. He'd lain awake through nights thinking of small touches of their hands and arms, last night he hadn't found any sleep because he had nothing in mind than the image of Ben on that dirty old mattress, such tragic beauty surrounded and already touched by death. His senses went crazy when Ben was around. It was the truth.

"You shouldn't," was Ben's simple answer.

"Tell me one good reason why," Roel said seriously, meeting his gaze. Ben lowered his head, not daring to look into his eyes.

"Others have tried and failed," Ben said quietly, as if he was ashamed of this fact.

"I will destroy you if you get into this. And I don't want to destroy yet another person." As he looked up there was no light in his dull, broken eyes.

"I can't imagine that the others think this way," Roel said.

"Oh, they don't think this way," Ben replied without joy.

"But deep inside I know they are. And I know myself better than anybody else knows me, even if I barely know myself."

There was another long silence after that, in which Ben clutched his mug so tightly Roel thought it would be crushed between his fingers. But they were too weak.

"H," Ben said then, so quietly that the letter was only a breath.

"What?"

"H. Heroin. That's what it was. That's how deep I'm in. That's why you might as well give up without trying. Because, believe me, I'm in this and in everything that was on my way before I got here."

He took the last swig from his mug before he stood up, ending the conversation without words. Silently Roel emptied his own mug and got the keys for his car, constantly fighting back the wave of desperation that had come with the breaking of the last straw he'd been clinging onto.

If Ben himself was so hopeless, was there really no hope?


	3. Vanity

He should not have let him go.

Roel was lying on the couch, a cup of valerian tea warming his hands and calming his nerves - or at least it was supposed to calm his nerves. Ben wouldn't be able to keep his promise to just go home and sleep, Roel knew. Then why had he believed him when he'd said so?

He couldn't go back to the horrible place where he'd found him the last night. The dealer, who seemed to rule over the place somehow, had become wary and he would likely end up shot. He hoped that Ben would show up in the studio the next day, hoped that he would get through the night. Of course he'd gotten through every night before, but each night like this was a huge risk.

He should not have let him go.

Fear and guilt weighed heavy upon his mind. Even the calming herbal mixture couldn't help the feeling of hopelessness and not being able to do anything. He wouldn't even know where to search. If he went out now...

No, don't think about that. He shook his head, emptied his cup, went to brew another one, needing something to keep him occupied. When he was finished he turned on the TV. The movie would have sucked him in at any other moment, would have kept his nerves strained, but his mind strayed off to whatever Ben might be doing at this moment. It was crazy how much he cared, but then again nobody else seemed to do.

The others had looked relieved when the two of them had showed up in the studio, most of their relief aimed at Ben instead of Roel, though. This proved that they knew about his behaviour, yet made no effort of stopping him. Why could this be the case? They were his closest friends. They had to care.

Roel knew that something must have happened to make things turn this way, but he could not think of what. How long had this been going on for?

Questions over questions. He switched to another TV channel, already his mind was exhausted from thinking and worrying. There was a recording of a play on another channel, a tragedy like the one he seemed to have fallen into. Not once did he regret coming to this town.

It took him another hour and a half to fall into a light sleep. By the time he closed his eyes it was past midnight. The doorbell woke him from his sleep with its ugly tone a mere hour later. The TV was still running in the background.

Roel scrambled to his feet, hurrying to open the door when the bell rang a second time. There was no video screen, not even a hole in the door that could have prepared him for his late night visitor, so he had no idea who might be standing there until the door swung open.

"Ben!" he cried out in surprise, instantly having to open his arms to catch the man who stumbled into his arms as he couldn't hold onto the doorframe any longer. He smelled of smoke, sweat and alcohol and was still wearing the clothes Roel had given him in the morning. He hadn't been home.

"I'm so sorry," he muttered on Roel's shoulder. His speech was so strongly slurred that Roel could barely understand him. Helplessly he supported him and towed him into the flat so that they wouldn't wake one of Roel's many neighbours, businessmen who worked all day and certainly did not wish to be woken up in the middle of the night.

"I'm so sorry," Ben whispered again.

"You shouldn't have seen me like this, doing that, in that place, you shouldn't have seen me you weren't supposed to be there and neither was I I'm so sorry it should never have happened-" He buried his face on Roel's shoulder, who had managed to pull him onto the couch. As he wrapped his - as usually - cold body into the warm blanket he suddenly noticed an odd discoloration of Ben's skin. He pulled back the hoodie from Ben's neck and gasped.

There were fresh, red marks on the bright blue bruises on his throat, bloody scratches that had to stem from sharp fingernails. The hoarseness of Ben's voice seemed to confirm the suspicion that somebody had choked, had abused him. But how?

"What did you do?" he whispered, not receiving an answer from the other man who was still sunken deep into the parallel universe he seemed to be in. He kept on repeating that he was sorry, and he groaned a name over and over again, between all his pained moans.

"Was Michael the man who did this to you?" Roel asked softly but Ben did not even seem to notice him. Roel held him in his arms now, helplessly lay one hand upon his hair to soothe him. When Ben finally calmed down he fell asleep within minutes. Roel did not even bother to go to bed but fell asleep right there with him. He felt miserable.

\---

He woke up when the (light) weight on his body seemed to be lifted from it. Still sleepy he blinked into the sunlight that streamed into the room, filtered by the thin curtains. Seconds later he was fully awoken by the sound of somebody throwing up.

He did not go into the bathroom, deciding to leave Ben some privacy. Instead he waited until the other emerged from behind the wooden door, looking even more miserable than Roel felt as he looked at him.

"Sorry," Ben muttered. Deep shame was wrought into his face.

"I ought to be going." Suddenly a rage washed over Roel, a rage that he could not quite explain. He was angry at Ben for doing this to himself, angry at himself for letting him go, angry at the world for allowing these forms of hurting oneself.

"You're not leaving until you've talked to me," he said hardly.

"Do you know how I feel seeing you like this? I need to know. About everything."

"I ought to be going," Ben repeated himself.

"I've told you you shouldn't worry about me. It's destroying you already." He turned towards the apartment door but Roel was with him within a second, holding his arm firmly but not causing him pain.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

"I shouldn't have said that. I know how all of this must be for you. It's unfair to compare my feelings to what you must be experiencing. I'm just asking this of you - talk. Please. Talk to me. You're right, it is destroying me... seeing you like this. But maybe we can out an end to it."

The words hit Benjamin without preparation. Before Roel knew it the unfamiliar stare had turned into a waterfall of tears that had been concealed carefully throughout the years that he must have been suffering. A reassuring squeeze of his shoulder was enough to make him break down now.

It were the feelings and experiences, the traumas of fifteen years pouring out of him. The drugs, the men, the cuts, the bruises, the track marks, all the other injuries, his insecurities and his deepest feelings ran out of him like blood and drained his energy away. By the time he was finished he was a shaking mess, crying no more but concealing his face from Roel. God alone knew what must be going on in his head.

It was years later that he revealed what he had been thinking: It was so much. I couldn't believe that I'd told all these shameful things to a person who could tell , could have told them to another person. In this moment I wanted nothing but to end it all. But for the moment he couldn't say another word.

Roel was the one who calmed him down after this breakdown, one of many that had all ended in horrible, scarring ways.

"I'll be there for you," was all he said for a while. Then:

"Are you ready to do this with me?"

\---

He lasted three days.

Ben stayed with Roel through these days, they came to and left the studio together and nobody said a word. On the first day he felt nothing but the usual sickness that came throughout the day, just that he couldn't make it go away after he'd left his friends. He ate dinner with Roel, watched TV and fell asleep early on his couch.

On the second day he awoke feeling as if he'd slept on hard stone ground. His muscles were aching and he felt as if he'd gotten no sleep at all. The headache hammered in his head and he felt so sick he could barely eat, managing to swallow some dry toast and a glass of water. Throughout the day his eyes began tearing up, he would feel dizzy when he stood up and would find himself flinching at every little sound.

He did not eat more than a quarter of his plate at dinner. Through his blurring vision he could see Roel's concerned look, shook his head and lay down to sleep. He was so exhausted that he thought he must fall into a deep sleep within seconds. Only that he did not.

He lay awake for hours and hours without finding to sleep. His body ached whenever he moved just the slightest bit, the cuts on his arms and the scratches on his throat were a thousand times worse than when they had been fresh. It had to be close to 4am when he stood up, rummaging through the kitchen counters with his pounding headache until he had found pills that made him glide into a restless sleep.

On the morning of the third day he felt like nailed to a wheel. It was like the flu just that his muscles kept aching and the symptoms were a thousand times worse. He was cold, and despite that there were beads of sweat on his forehead. He didn't leave the house, didn't go to the studio and neither did Roel. The other man kept him company when the nausea came, when he threw up seven times over a period of two hours, forced him to eat something when his stomach began cramping and provided him with blankets when the goose bumps and the shivering increased.

By the end of the day he was crying in pain. Mentally he wasn't feeling any better. He'd never been in withdrawal for long enough to feel its effects but he was craving the drugs, craving the highs so terribly that he wanted to scream and maybe he did. He held onto Roel, his fingernails digging painfully into the other's skin, maybe he was begging him to make it stop. His mind had left the room and was with the drugs, trying to replicate the feeling they would give him.

Roel knew what was coming. He looked into Ben's eyes with their dilated pupils, widened in pain when another wave of cramps or seizures would hit him, when his body would convulse. Ben would not fall asleep.

The hour was approaching eleven when the small, skinny man stopped clinging onto him when shaken by a convulsion even stronger than any of the ones before. Ben looked at him, begging silently, and Roel knew what he would say next. He felt the pain like an arrow in his heart when the words came.

"I can't do this," Ben whispered. His voice was so small and thin that Roel wanted to cry at what was being done to him.

"I know, Ben, I know," Roel whispered back. He could see how the will to fight was pouring out of Benjamin. He could only fathom how sick the other man must be of this fight. He gently opened Ben's fingers that were still in a position of grasping something despite being empty of Roel's upper arms where they had left distinctive marks. The thought how the others, oblivious of all this, would mock him about those marks the next day, was grotesque.

"I can't do it," Ben whispered again, suddenly standing on his feet again. His mindset had switched from despair to anger within seconds.

"I can't do it!" he screamed. Tears were running down his cheeks again. Then he dropped to his knees, only to come back to his feet in the next moment. Roel had heard that withdrawal wasn't a pretty thing, but nothing could have prepared him for its true ugliness and its horror. He knew he had to let him go again. It was of no use. They had lost.


	4. Sistersun

"Roel, schat, what's the matter with you today? I've never seen you looking so sorrowful, not even when your first dog died."

"It's nothing, oma," Roel told her not very convincingly. His grandmother Hella looked at her grandson strictly and he sighed, giving in to her burning stare pressuring him.

"Not here," he said shortly and gestured towards the wide garden. Thick mist hung in the air on this cold January morning.

Hella followed him outside silently, knowing that he truly did not wish to talk until it was just the two of them. But when they'd reached the cover of the apple and plum trees she turned towards him with her arms crossed, icy blue eyes sparkling curiously.

"Now, what's it about? That new job of yours?" His grandmother was the brightest woman Roel had ever encountered, and even though she hadn't exactly hit the nail on the head this time it surprised him again how close to reality her suspicion was.

"Technically, yes," he said reluctantly.

"What's it? The pressure? No, you'd know the pressure of being a musician. It's the people, right? It must be the people."

"It's the people," Roel agreed.

"Or well, one of them. He's a very... special guy."

"Not in a good way, I reckon?"

"Oh, he's one of the kindest and most fascinating people I've ever met." Thinking of Ben lit a spark somewhere within Roel, a spark that warmed him even in the icy air of the garden that made him shiver.

"But there's... a problem. More than one, actually."

"Roel." His grandmother punished him with one of her especially strict gazes.

"How do you expect me to give you advice when you're not telling me what's going on?"

"I never said I needed advice," Roel muttered.

"Stupid boy," she countered.

"Of course you do." Roel sighed exasperatedly. Of course she was right. She always was right. And so he told het every detail of what he'd witnessed Ben doing, her concern growing stronger with every word he said. When he had finished she was silent for a very long time.

"And you really tried to get him away with this method? I would've expected better from you," she said then.

"I didn't know what else to do!" Roel defended himself.

"I couldn't just watch it! It hurts inside to see it, did I say that? It hurts."

His grandmother regarded him with a very long and intense stare.

"That man is very important to you," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Perhaps more important than you might acknowledge he is."

"What are you trying to tell me right now?" Now it was Roel's turn to cross his arms. By now he was shivering, unwillingly having to think about Ben and the night in the abandoned building again.

"Nothing that you can't find out yourself... if you look deep inside," his grandmother said impatiently.

"And now, it's crystal clear what you have to do, isn't it? First thing tomorrow you drive back to Germany and do it. No excuses. You know you can and have to do it."

Roel hesitated. Of course he was aware of what his grandmother was trying to tell him. Ben had to get into rehab, and he wouldn't go there on his own. It had become Roel's quest to save him, and he wouldn't give him up now.

\---

He left for Germany early the next morning, earlier than he had planned to. His band would be in the studio now, he realized as he pulled into the driveway of his rented apartment. So he locked the car to walk the short distance to the two-story building in the basement of which their studio was located.

Of course nobody was expecting him. Roel knocked on the door to announce himself before he let himself in. The last vocals were currently being recorded and the atmosphere was buzzing with excitement upon hearing the final recordings. But as soon as he entered, Roel felt the tension in the air and heard the quiet whispers that the others were exchanging.

"Hey guys, I'm back earlier!" he called out, heads instantly turning towards him with greetings on their lips. But their cheeriness seemed forced, and worry overshadowed their voices. And Roel instantly knew what was wrong here.

The recordings were being done by the man who was sitting close to his devices, listening to the singing and nodding absentmindedly while his attention kept swerving towards Ben, who was sitting beside him. Roel could see his face from the side; he perceived his bluish lips and pinpoint pupils and the shallow way in which he was breathing as well as the labour it took him to remain seated in his chair. He seemed drowsy, not quite awake.

"What's the matter?" Roel asked alarmed, even though he knew exactly what the matter was.

"Don't act like you don't know," he heard David say, but the words came through his ear as if stuck in a barrier of thick cotton, for in this moment Ben almost fell to the side and onto the floor. In the last second he caught himself again, staring into the emptiness beyond their singer who'd just finished a song.

"I see." Roel drew in a breath.

"Why aren't you doing anything?" he then asked with panic in his voice as Ben's breathing seemed to slow down even more.

"What more are we supposed to do?" asked Christian.

"You've never done anything at all!" Roel exclaimed. Christian shook his head sadly.

"You don't know what we did when we still had hope that we could change this. But we lost him a long time ago."

"He's never showed up to work high, though," David said thoughtfully.

"I think it's best to leave him alone today, not ask too much of him."

"This is serious!" Roel began pacing up and down.

"This isn't a normal high, I can assure you. It might well be an overdose. We ought to bring him to a hospital or call an ambulance or otherwise I don't know what might happen! Are you all blind?"

"You mean...?" David did not speak the words but Roel knew what he was talking about, and at the same time he felt sorry for mentioning it. He knew that David was Ben's probably closest friend and that the bare thought of Ben dying must cause him incredible pain. But it was a possibility indeed.

"So here's what we're gonna do," Roel said as he'd calmed down a little.

"I'm gonna get the next best car and get Ben away from here. If anything happens while I'm gone you call an ambulance."

\---

"How do you feel?" he asked Ben the same day in the evening. The sky outside the white, white hospital room was pitch black. The lighting made everything appear very pale. Ben's skin seemed chalk white.

"Terrible," Ben answered truthfully and closed his eyes.

"Like somebody with a hammer wants to get out of my head. Like I have to vomit, except that there's nothing in my stomach that I could throw up." He pressed his eyes shut and shook his head.

"You need to quit this, Ben," Roel said seriously.

"I know we tried and I know we failed, because we did it the wrong way. But you have to get away from it or you're going to die and you know it."

Ben's eyes remained shut, but even through closed eyelids Roel perceived the vulnerability within them. His muscles grew tense as Ben opened his mouth.

"But... I want to die," he whispered very quietly.

"Don't you say that," Roel whispered, remembering all the things that Ben had told him that morning at his place. Could it be that there was even more to it all?

"But I'm saying it. There's nothing and no one here for me. Really, I shouldn't..."

"Don't you say that," Roel repeated.

"They've all given up on me," Ben said, turning his head away from Roel.

"I haven't," he said simply, stepping closer to Ben's bed. His hand touched Ben's icy one very softly, but he could feel the warmth the touch sent through his body. The shiver that went through Ben told the same story.

"I've told you before and I'm telling you again, I'll go through this with you. And I'll go further with you, if you wish me to."

There was silence between them, a heavy silence that pressed down both of their spirits.

"Do you want to try again?" Roel asked then.

"For... for me?"

Finally Ben dared to look at him again. His broken eyes shimmered with the slightest suppressed spark of a hope he didn't even dare to acknowledge. His finger's brushed against Roel's and Roel knew that the move had not been as unintentional as Ben tried to make it seem.

"I'll try again," he said and swallowed deep.

"For you."

Roel knew that he must be fighting a battle in his mind, against the forces that told him to refuse recovery and sink back into the hell he was in. But for the moment all that counted were these words. I'll try again.

There was always hope.


	5. Coma Garden

"I know I'm killing myself," he whispered, face buried in his close friend's arms.

"But I just can't let go."

Roel remained silent at those words. It was a battle against tiredness for Ben to even speak. He could barely last an hour in the morning now. Somewhere in this deep valley of despair they'd grown closer, resulting in even more pain for Roel that was caused by looking at Ben.

He was holding him in his arms again, something Ben only allowed when he was high or had reached a new rock bottom point. He was curled up in Roel's arms now, tense and crying, his brain muddled from last night's drug cocktail, two weeks after he'd fallen back into his drug habit for the fifth time.

"I think I want to kill myself," Ben whispered to himself. It was not for Roel to hear, yet he couldn't overhear those eight little words that were as completely and utterly hopeless as Roel felt himself. Unable to do anything else he just held Ben a little closer.

Somewhere along the dark way they were going he'd lost his heart to the slightly older man that was so much more fragile than himself. In fact Ben wasn't even fragile anymore, he was just broken. Roel knew that Ben loved him, too, but neither of them could confess their love for Ben was still clinging onto the straw that he wasn't important to Roel so that he wouldn't have to feel so much shame for continuing his self destructive habits.

Ben kept lying in Roel's arms for two more hours in which neither of them said a single word. Tears were staining Roel's shirt, soaking through it and wetting his skin. He didn't care. He would have remained in this position forever, would have held Ben in all eternity if he could only keep him away from the place he would go to every night.

But of course he went.

Not tonight, Roel thought. Tonight I'm going to follow him again, no matter if I get shot or killed or anything else. For the tour to their album would soon begin. And if he couldn't succeed in getting Ben away from the drugs by the time it did he might never find him in whatever drug den in Europe he might end up dead.

\---

The house gave him uncomfortable flashbacks to the night few months ago when he'd first come here, had first found Ben in this horrible situation. He was aware that tonight would not be any better, braced himself for what was coming - but he never could have braced himself for what truly was to come.

\---

It was only twenty minutes later that he was kneeling in front of a dirty mirror, covered with scratches, staring at the thin white line of powder that was spread out before him, his shivering fingers holding a 10-euro-bill. He didn't know how he'd ended up here, the last twenty minutes were ablur, all that he knew was that he had no more cash in his pockets and was about to experience what Ben had given his life to. He'd been drinking some obscure alcoholic beverage that somebody had given him and he was about to do cocaine.

Every fibre of his body resisted again what he knew he was about to do anyways. Don't bend over, it screamed as he bent over, rolling up the bill he was holding. The graffiti on the walls were staring down at him, inhuman grimaces spitting cold scorn. They seemed to be laughing at him. Coward, they shouted, you wanted to know. Don't you fool yourself, you've always wanted to. Now might be your only chance, so don't you dare and waste it.

He bit his lip, not noticing how strongly his teeth were biting down until a drop of blood fell onto the mirror, forming a tiny stream that flowed uncontrollably and unstoppably over the surface that mirrored the pitch black darkness Roel saw when he looked up to the high ceiling. He could let it go now, let the drug be carried away by his own blood, get Ben, leave and never think about this almost-situation again.

Instead he lowered his head, put the rolled up bill to his nose and snorted the white powder through it.

The first thing he felt was an irritation in his nostril before the pain made way to a numbing sensation. And then he felt good.

It could not have been described in a better way than with this simple word, good. Good was the feeling of being energized, of feeling energy shoot through your veins like a cup of strong coffee after a too short night. And he realized why they called it a high. And suddenly he realized why people would sell their lives for it.

The second thing he felt was the shame - or was it? There was reason in his mind, telling him he should not have done this, but feeling so good it was easy to ignore the voice in the back of his mind. He only had to find Ben now, carry him away. Maybe they could experience this together. Roel smiled at the thought of it.

His heart was pumping as he walked through the corridors. He was suddenly very aware of the power he held, felt like he could eat the entire world raw. And god, it felt good.

\---

It might have taken him ten minutes of wandering through the corridors until he found Ben, but when he saw him it was all gone. Roel wondered how he could have done what he had done, wondered how he could have disappointed Ben in this way. He began to understand a piece of why Ben seemed to hate himself so much, why he didn't care that he was killing himself.

He was getting off his high and felt thrown towards the lowest point of his entire life. The power had been sucked out of him, everything keeping him on his feet was gone but he wanted to feel good so badly. It would be so easy to go back and just get money, get more, get this feeling back and get high again. It would be so easy...

...and that was the moment when he realized the vicious circle Ben was trapped in. He fell to his knees next to the other man who was caught in a delirious haze between reality and hallucination and on the floor of the dirty room, kneeling only several inches away from dirty injections needles and bloodstained tissues he found himself burying his face in his hands and wanting to cry, only that he could not.

\---

When he woke up his head was on the mattress next to Ben's torso. The first thing he saw was the fabric of his own hoodie that the other man was wearing, then he felt a movement next to him and started, only to feel lightning splitting his head in half as he moved. He cried out in pain, moaned as he heard the slurred, trusted voice through the haze of sickness and agony that was in his head by now.

"What are you doing here?" Ben asked, panicked, grasping Roel's hand. Roel's mouth was so dry that he couldn't answer. his stomach cramped and he retched, feeling more miserable than ever before in his life.

"No!" he heard Ben scream then.

"No! Nonononono, you can't... you wouldn't... I'm so sorry!"

He was crying again, Roel felt it, and he was crying because of how badly he, Roel, had fucked up last night. And of course Ben knew. He'd experienced this exact feeling often enough to recognize it in others.

Roel searched for Ben's hand and finally found it, squeezing it helplessly, as hard as he could with his body that was drained of all energy.

"I'm so sorry," Ben repeated as his voice broke.

"I knew I'd do nothing but destroy you. I'm so sorry."

"Stop," was the first thing Roel brought out. He knew how terrible Ben must be feeling physically, he didn't want to cause him even more turmoil by wrecking his emotions that were constantly at the breaking point anyways.

"I'll do anything, Roel," Ben whispered.

"I'll do anything to make this undone."

"You can't make it undone, darling," Roel whispered, using the pet name without even noticing.

"But you can help yourself. You can nit give up. That's all."

"I'll do anything," Ben said again.

"I'll try again, I swear. I won't try on my own only. I swear it."

"Did it really take this?" Roel asked, managing the weakest grin.

"You know why," Ben whispered, entwining their fingers. Roel struggled to get up so far that he could heave himself onto the mattress and pull Ben close. Then their lips finally joined, a spark of hope in this place where all hope seemed gone.

Roel felt a wave of warmth flooding his body while agony was still filling it. But it didn't matter now, it didn't matter now that he had Ben so close to him and could look into a future brighter than what he could have hoped for only minutes ago.


End file.
